


i will be chasing a starlight

by SpaceRat



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Astronomy, GGE2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceRat/pseuds/SpaceRat
Summary: He considers going over to Ian, sayinghior whatever it is people in school clubs do, but decides against it. He’s here because he wants to be, not because some prettyboy space nerd expected him to show up again. Mickey sniffs and puts some goddamn purpose in his step as he walks across the observatory to a spot well the fuck away from Ian.aka, space nerds slowly falling in love





	i will be chasing a starlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loftec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loftec/gifts).



> For Loftec, who asked for something space-related and with a happy ending. This is my first foray into writing for Mickey and Ian, and I had a lot of fun doing it. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> All my thanks go to Lydia, who is a champ and beta-d this thing even though she doesn't watch Shameless. xoxo
> 
> Rated M for some mild sexual content and Mickey's vernacular. Title from [Muse's Starlight.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgum6OT_VH8)

_Ryerson Astronomical Society_

_Come join us for our weekly observation nights! See the stars, learn about our galaxy and meet new friends.  
_ _No prior experience necessary, equipment and snacks provided!_

_Wednesdays, 8:00pm, Ryerson Hall Rooftop Observatory (pending cloud coverage)_

 

* * *

  

It’s a cool Wednesday night and Mickey’s climbing up the stairs to the observatory, muttering about stupid fucking school clubs, stupid fucking social bullshit. He does a pretty decent imitation of his sister telling him to “go join a club, Mickey. Make some fuckin’ friends, Mickey. Bitch could just tell me to scram next time she wants to bang her shithead boyfriend.” 

But Mandy has been on his case with this crap since long before said shithead boyfriend had turned up, and Mickey’s gotten tired of his heart twisting every time she gives him the Concerned Sibling Stare that always comes along with this spiel. So here he fucking is, going to the goddamn astronomy club like some proper college asshole.

When he gets to the rooftop, there’s a smattering of people already there and he plasters a scowl on his face as he scans the area. He doesn’t recognize anyone, though that’s not really a surprise and he doesn’t really give a shit. He ain’t here to make buddies. No, he’s here only because he loves his sister to the moon and back, and he only picked this particular shitty club because he kinda had a thing for space as a kid (before Terry kindly informed him that star-gazing’s for fags) and he happened to see a poster for it outside the math building last week. Ryerson Astronomical Society, the hell kinda yuppie name is that anyway?

Most of the people there are yammering away at each other, gaping at the sky or getting the equipment and free food promised on the poster. Mickey sighs and tells himself to put some effort into this for Mandy’s sake at least. He finds a spot a bit to the side of everyone else and feels like a right moron standing there, wondering what the fuck to do other than look up.

Somewhere off to the side he overhears someone giving instructions, telling a couple of newbies how to find Polaris, apparently. They’re bombarding him with questions, most of which Mickey couldn’t answer for shit, but every so often they throw one out and his brain somehow extracts the right information from when he was a kid reading dumb space books while Terry wasn’t looking. The guy answering all of this isn’t the worst at explaining shit, and Mickey finds himself kinda following along to what he’s saying, silently tracking the stars along with Professor X and his disciples. He’s just about located the constellation of Cassiopeia as per instructions when someone steps up beside him.

“Hey. You new here?”

Mickey doesn’t say a word, just snaps his eyes to the side to see what joker thought he came here to have a nice evening chat.

The guy next to him’s got a few inches on Mickey and he stands stalk straight, like he’s an army cadet or something. He has red hair swept back from his forehead, a strong set to his jaw, and yeah, alright, Mickey admits to himself, Sgt. Pepper’s pretty fucking hot. Still don’t mean Mickey wants to have a goddamn conversation. He frowns and returns his attention to the sky. Tries to find where the fuck Cassiopeia went.

But Sgt. Pepper ignores Mickey’s attempt at ignoring him and leans in towards his line of vision as he says, “Don’t think I saw you here the past couple of weeks, is all.”

“Yeah, s’my first time,” Mickey grumbles out. “What, is this thing invitation only or something?”

Sgt. Pepper laughs at that. It’s a bright, cheerful laugh that kinda catches Mickey off-guard and has him peering back at the guy again. 

“No, not at all. I was just curious. It's good to see new people here,” Sgt. Pepper says with a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners from it and making Mickey’s stomach do this weird flip flop thing. He scowls, scratching at the side of his nose, and keeps his mouth firmly shut. 

Sgt. Pepper’s not to be deterred, though. 

“I’m Ian, by the way,” he says. 

“Mickey.” It flies out before Mickey can stop himself. He winces as Ian’s smile stretches even bigger. It lights up his whole damn face. Fucking hell. 

“So, you, uh... you planning on interrogating every new person here, Ian?” Eyebrows raised in challenge, Mickey flicks his eyes to the rest of the crowd. The group he was listening to is now turned around from the direction they started in, staring at a patch of sky in earnest as the leader guy points at a cluster of stars Kid Mickey might have known the names of. Maybe Ian can go join their social club instead. 

“Naw, seems they’re all covered. ‘Sides, I think you're doing a lot more questioning than I am.” The lopsided grin is still there. So are the stupid flip flops in Mickey’s gut.

“Whatever, man. I’m just here to,” Mickey waves a hand at the sky, “observe, or whatever the fuck.” So move on with your life and go bother someone who actually gives a shit. 

The universe, however, seems to have taken Mickey for its plaything tonight, as Ian steps in close, close enough for Mickey to smell the soap on his skin, and points a hand up above them. “Here, see that star over there? The really bright one to the left?” 

It takes Mickey a moment to focus on what the fuck Ian’s pointing to. “Yeah, what about it?” 

“That’s Alpha Centauri. Closest star to the solar system.” Ian stares at it all wide-eyed and full of wonder, like he’s imagining some fantasy world in outer space. He’d fit right in, Mickey thinks, with his bright hair and freckled skin, all alien-looking and whatnot. 

“Ain’t it actually three stars?” He has no idea where the fuck he pulled that information from, or how his brain is even functioning right now, though the way Ian turns to him, face beaming and excited, tells Mickey he’s not wrong. 

“Yeah, it is. Hold on, gimme a sec,” Ian says. He slips away and comes back not even a minute later with a pair of binoculars in hand. Mickey watches him fiddling with the focus dial as he looks through them, his mouth twisting further and further into a frown with each turn of the little knob. 

“These are fucking awful, can’t see anything with ‘em.” Ian turns to the guy with the newbies and yells, “Hey, Lip, would it kill you to get us some functional equipment next year?” 

The guy -  _Lip_ , apparently - just waves him off. Ian laughs and turns back to Mickey. “I’ll bring my pocket scope next week, we should at least be able to make out  _something_ with it.” 

“Knock yourself out Spaceboy, but I never said anything about coming back.” 

There's no way he’s coming back next week. No freakin’ way.

 

* * *

 

Seven days later, Mickey’s climbing up the observatory steps only because Mandy’s out and he was bored at home, had nothing better to do. Not that he even needs a reason - he can go wherever he damn well pleases without having to explain himself, alright. 

He pushes through the door at the top of the staircase and steps into the observatory proper. It takes two seconds flat to find Ian among the people scattered across the open space of the rooftop. No surprise, really - with that height and hair of his, the guy’s a walking beacon. Mickey’s heart thuds a fast beat against his chest - probably from all those stairs he went up. 

He considers going over to Ian, saying  _hi_ or whatever it is people in school clubs do, but decides against it. He’s here because he wants to be, not because some prettyboy space nerd expected him to show up again. Mickey sniffs and puts some goddamn purpose in his step as he walks across the observatory to a spot well the fuck away from Ian. 

Alpha Centauri is hanging in the night sky, gleaming and radiant even with the glowing lights of the streetlamps below. It really does look like one star from here. Mickey squints at it, tries to see something more with his bare eyes, even though he knows it’s useless. The single dot of light just happily twinkles back at him. He sighs and wonders if any of the equipment the club’s got on hand is actually functional enough to see anything good with. 

“Here, use this.” As if cued up by a higher force made to torment Mickey, Ian choses right then to materialize next to him, waving some black tube-shaped object at his face. Mickey’s arm moves on its own when he swats at it, muscles in his limbs pulling tight like violin strings and hair on his neck rising. 

“The fuck? Jesus, Astro Boy, you ever hear of saying hello?” 

“Sorry.” Ian laughs. He puts his hands up and steps back a bit as the tension in Mickey’s spine uncoils. Then he does this show of being all proper and whatnot with his chin raised and his empty hand flat on his chest, face somber and serious all of a sudden. He  _ahems_ and bends forward a little as he says, “Hello. So glad you could make it again.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes and the stern look on Ian’s face dissolves into the lopsided grin that seems to be his version of a neutral facial expression. Resting smiley dork face. Mickey feels the corners of his own mouth tick up a bit and he glances away, finding the web of treetops below suddenly fucking fascinating. 

“So, you brought your telescope, huh?” He asks.

“Here,” Ian says and holds the tube in his hand out to Mickey. His fingers are long and thin, easily wrapping around the telescope in a solid grip. Mickey doesn’t realize he’s staring until Ian waves the thing at him again. Scowling, he snatches the telescope out of Ian’s hand and brings it up to his eye. 

It’s a simple thing, just a lens and a focus dial, but as soon as Mickey looks through the scope, he knows why Ian was so excited last week. Little specks of light cover the field of view, more than he’s ever seen at one time before. He points the telescope at Alpha Centauri and, sure enough, two dots blink back at him. A pair of tiny stellar eyes. This time Mickey doesn’t bother fighting the smile spreading across his face. This is fucking cool. 

He gives the telescope back to Ian and watches as he brings it up to the sky. Ian does this little dance of looking through the scope then above it like he’s comparing the stars from afar and up close, huffing out little  _huhs_ and  _hmms_ of awe every so often.

Then he turns to Mickey. “Did you know that they found a planet around Proxima Centauri?”

“Did they, now?” 

“Yeah, just last year. Might even be able to support life.” 

“What, like martians?” 

“Those would be from Mars, Mickey.” 

“Well, s’cuse me for not being more ethnically sensitive towards the little green men in the sky,” 

That gets Ian laughing again and Mickey wonders if there’s anything this kid doesn’t find fucking funny. 

“Think it’s kinda cool though. Always wondered if there was anything like Earth out there. Closest to a system like ours is Kepler 90 and even that has only seven planets.” Ian’s back to gazing up at the night sky like its got all the answers to the universe and he just needs to watch the right spots to find them. 

He might be the biggest fucking dork Mickey’s ever set eyes on, constantly brimming with facts and  _did you knows_ about the stars and the planets and whatever the fuck else is out there. But, somehow - he’s not exactly sure how, and he definitely doesn’t wanna think too much about  _why_ \- Mickey gets caught up listening to Ian talk about space until they’re among the last ones there and Lip is tossing Ian a set of keys, telling him to lock up when they’re done.

 

* * *

 

And then it becomes… a  _thing_.

Every Wednesday, Mickey goes up to the observatory where the astronomy club meets to look at the stars. Every Wednesday, he and Ian end up being the last ones left up there. Some nights they keep watching the stars and planets, or study the moon’s surface through Ian’s telescope, or make up new constellations (Ian keeps insisting that one particular cluster of stars looks like a baseball diamond, even though it’s clearly a pair of nunchucks). Other nights, they sit, smoke, shoot the shit for a while. Sometimes Mickey brings them a couple beers and they shotgun those. It’s not the worst way in the world to spend the time.

“So what made you condemn yourself to a degree in  _math?_ ” says Ian on a shoot the shit kind of night. He does this a lot, seems to like asking Mickey stupid questions about himself.

Mickey shrugs. “Was always alright with numbers, seemed like the logical option.”

“Yeah but like… an entire degree? That’s a lot of fuckin’ math.”

“So what, I like math. What made you condemn yourself to a degree in… astronomy or whatever the fuck?” 

“Psych, actually. Family history.” Ian leans towards Mickey and taps a finger to his temple. “I did wanna be an astronaut though. When I was a kid.” 

“No fuckin’ way, a space nerd like you? Never woulda guessed.” 

Ian just chuckles, never remotely bothered by any of Mickey’s barbs. “Oh, fuck off. Like you didn’t wanna be one too.” 

“Naw.” Mickey twirls a lighter between his fingers. “I wanted to be Seagal.” 

“Steven Seagal?” 

“Fuck yeah Steven Seagal, what other Seagal do you know?” 

Ian shakes his head, lips pulled tight like he’s trying to stop the grin from spreading on them. “Why him?” 

“I was a kid man, I don’t fucking know. My dad always had his movies going on the TV. Guess he thought Seagal was the shit, so I thought Seagal was the shit too. You know how it is.” 

Ian nods. “You close with your dad?”

“Not really,” Mickey says. The only things Terry had a close relationship with were his guns, his booze and his general hatred for faggotry. Mickey may have idolized his old man as a kid, but that pedestal came crashing down hard along with any notion he may have had that sleeping with chicks was something he could come to enjoy. “He died a few years back.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Better off without him.” Better off without a damn pity party, too. "So, how the hell do you know so much about space if you’re not in astronomy?” 

“It’s called a hobby, Mick,” Ian says and it earns him the bird. Ian swats at Mickey’s hand playfully and a warm tingling spreads across Mickey’s skin where they make contact. Mickey adamantly ignores it. 

“I dunno, I just grew up listening to Lip talk about it and thought it was cool. I used to sneak out on our roof to look at the sky as a kid. Always kinda hoped to see a meteor shower.”

“Real fuckin’ Major Tom, huh.” 

“Major Tom actually went to space, you know.” 

“And never came back.” 

“You tryna say something?” 

“Ehh…” 

“Oh, fuck right off.”

 

* * *

 

That night when Mickey gets home he brings up the web browser on his phone and types in  _when is the next meteor shower._ He does it out of dumb curiosity and nothing else, and if his chest happens to fill with warmth when he sees the next one is expected to happen exactly two Wednesdays from now, well, that doesn’t mean jack shit.

 

* * *

 

There’s no observation night the next week - early spring means more rain storms, and although tonight is miraculously dry the sky is still too spotty with clouds to see anything good - but Ian texts Mickey to say he’s got Lip’s key to the observatory and just like that Mickey is pulling his coat on before he even remembers to reply saying he’s bringing beers.

Three cans later, Mickey does a sloppy job of shoving a knife into the aluminum of the can in his hand before bringing it to his lips and flipping the tab at the top. The alcohol is cold and refreshing as it pours into his mouth, and when he’s halfway through he motions Ian closer. Beer spatters on both their jackets as Mickey passes him the can and Ian lands his palm directly on top of Mickey’s fingers, keeping him firmly there as he drinks.

It’s intoxicating, in a completely different way from the buzz already running through him. Mickey watches Ian drink, watches as a drop of beer slips past his lips and trails down his chin, his neck, marking a path along his skin like the tail of a comet. It’s a balmy spring night though Mickey’s suddenly feeling like he’s in the middle of the goddamn summer. 

He looks away before the beer makes him do something stupid, eyes focused on the sky above them. Alpha Centauri blinks at him from a break in the clouds.

 

* * *

 

The Wednesday of the meteor shower, Mickey gets another text from Ian.

  
_Spaceboy - 3. 29. 5:57 PM_  
Observation night cancelled again. Damn storm.  


He scowls at his phone and shoots off a quick _k, thanks_ before tossing it back down. Deep, dull grey clouds drum a heavy beat of rain against the windows while Mandy putters around a pot of Kraft Dinner.

“Don't you have your space club shit tonight?”

“Astronomy.” Mickey glares down at the calculus assignment in front of him. “Can't do shit in the fucking rain.”

Mandy  _hmms_. The smell of fake cheese drifts through the air and Mickey’s reading over the same problem for the third damn time when she sets his half of the KD by his elbow with a clunk and sits across from him. He shovels a forkful of cheesy mush into his mouth - Mandy always overcooks it - and tries to remember what formula he’s supposed to plug in to solve for x.

Neither of them say a word while they eat, the only sounds in the room coming from their forks clanking against their dishes and a soft  _scritch scritch_ as Mickey writes out half an answer, erases it, tries again, erases it. Thunder rumbles outside, a low growl against the beat of the rain. He can feel Mandy staring at him as he nearly wears a hole in the paper with the cheap eraser at the end of his pencil.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

Years of sibling banter means she doesn’t so much as bat a lash at the harsh cut in his tone. She doesn’t take her eyes off him either, though, and that just makes an irritating itch crawl across his skin.

“You’ve been in a mood all night.”

“No I haven’t.” Mickey frowns at her, his brows furrowing, and goes back to the menace of a math problem. It really shouldn’t be this hard to solve, but the heavy pitter patter against the windows is fucking distracting and makes it impossible to focus on anything other than the shitty weather outside. Mickey wonders if Ian is as annoyed by the storm clouds as he is. Not that he gives a shit what Ian thinks, though the guy  _is_ always really fucking enthusiastic about observation nights. Like some space puppy wagging his tail every time he sees a goddamn star.

Mandy’s voice is almost a sing-song as she says, “You're pissed about something.”

Mickey knows - without even looking at her, he  _knows_ she’s eyeing him in the sly, confident way she does when she thinks she's onto something, with the stupid impish grin that all younger siblings seem to be programmed to master at some point in their lives.

“Not fucking pissed,” he hisses at his assignment.

“Yes, you are. You’ve been huffing all day and now you’re taking it out on your precious math work.”

Mickey levels her with his best  _shut the fuck up_ glare, trademark Milkovich eyebrows and everything. Her dumbass grin just gets bigger before she laughs.

“Holy shit. You're actually upset that your space - my bad, your  _astronomy_ thing got cancelled.” The way she’s watching him, it’s like she’s unearthed some allusive fucking mystery. She leans forward, chin in her palm and shoulders slouched - trademark Milkovich shit posture - and gives him this cocksure look from the corner of her eye. “Told you you’d like it.”

Mickey glares some more, and when Mandy won’t stop grinning like the goddamn Cheshire Cat he gets up and grabs both of their bowls, glad to have an excuse to walk the fuck away. He dumps the dishes in the sink a little too carelessly and they clatter against each other.

“So what’s got you so into it? You meet a guy or something?”

“When’d you start caring if I met someone? Jesus,” he grumbles when he sits back down.

“When’d you start caring about your extracurriculars?” Mandy shoots back with ease.

“Don’t,” Mickey spits out just as easily. He goes back to his stupid math problem, but the numbers on the page make even less sense now than they did ten minutes ago. Another clap of thunder rings through the air. Mandy’s still locked onto him, the mischievous glint in her eye making him feel on edge and jittery.

“You didn’t answer my first question.”

“There’s no guy, there’s nothing fucking special about it, alright?” Mickey snaps and it’s more than enough for Mandy to get it in her head that she’s right. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest, smirk dripping with victory. And yeah, okay, maybe he wanted to see the dumbass meteor shower with Ian tonight, silently he’ll give her that, but it’s not a big deal and Ian’s not  _a guy,_ not in the sense that Mandy means it.

It’s fine. Mickey doesn’t care. He’s got his calculus shit he needs to finish anyway.

Mandy yawns then, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, you have fun pouting over  _nothing_. I’m going to bed.” As she passes him she gives him a light punch on the arm. They never were much for traditional forms of affection. “G’night, assface.”

“Night, Mands.” Mickey doesn’t have the will to swat back at her this time. He turns back to the mess of numbers and equations in front of him and takes a stab at working it all out again. And when he ends up glaring at the storm outside, it’s because he’s trying to solve for fucking x in his head and not because Alpha Centauri is invisible behind the heavy rain clouds.

 

* * *

 

 _Spaceboy - 3. 31. 8.26 PM_  
Meet me at the observatory.

 _Spaceboy - 3. 31. 8.40 PM_  
I’m here, have Lip’s key. Hurry up!

 _Spaceboy - 3. 31. 8.43 PM_  
Mick!

 _You - 3. 31. 8.47 PM_  
wtf man everything ok?

 _Spaceboy - 3. 31. 8.48 PM_  
Just get here already!

 

Mickey’s taking the stairs to the observatory two by two, nervous energy getting him to the door at the top in record time. He scans the open space and finds Ian by the perimeter wall on the other end of the rooftop, looking up at the sky. Always looking up at the goddamn sky.

“Ey,” Mickey calls out and Ian turns around. He smiles when he sees Mickey - a bright, excited grin that reaches his eyes and settles a queasiness in Mickey’s stomach he hadn’t noticed was there until it’s gone.

Ian’s attention is already back to the sky when Mickey walks over to him, Bambi eyes searching across it like he’s expecting some new star to appear above them.

“So what’s the goddamn emergency?”

“Kepler 90,” Ian all but whispers.

“The fuck?”

“Kepler 90,” Ian repeats a bit louder and looks at Mickey, as if that somehow makes everything perfectly clear.

“You’re gonna have to use your words, Ziggy Stardust. I got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“They found an eighth planet around Kepler 90.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“An eighth planet, Mickey.“ Ian claps his hands on Mickey’s shoulders and shakes him. “An entire other solar system like ours.”

“And you made me run all the way over here for that?”

“Of course. Who the hell else would I go to?” Ian says it like it’s the most fucking obvious thing in the universe that Mickey is the first person he’d think to share his ridiculous space obsession with. “‘Sides, I missed you.”

And that blindsides Mickey. Straight up suckerpunches him right in the chest. He’s dumbstruck and speechless, and it takes him a moment to remember how to function like a normal human being again.

“Fuck’s sake. Get your hands off me,” Mickey grouses and shrugs his shoulders to shake Ian off.

Ian just cracks that cheeky fucking smile of his, brimming with something like satisfaction and Mickey has to look away. He pulls his lips into a line to keep them from spreading any further into a grin of his own.

“So, what’s this new solar system business?”

 

* * *

 

Kepler 90 is 2,545 light years away from Earth. 

At least that's what www.space.com tells Mickey. It also tells him that the solar system sits at a 63 degree angle in the Milky Way and that red dwarfs are the most common type of stars in the galaxy and a bunch of other shit he’s sure Ian could have told him just as easily. And according to www.space.com, there are over 100 billion stars in the Milky Way alone. Ian probably knows this too - probably knows the exact number even, goddamn human space encyclopaedia. 

Mickey wonders how many freckles are on Ian’s skin. He wonders what shapes and constellations they make along his nose and what galaxies they form across his shoulders. When he falls asleep, he dreams of hair bright like the sun and eyes the colours of distant nebulas. He dreams of mapping out the universe across Ian’s skin with his tongue and of Ian’s hands splayed like stars on Mickey’s hips. He dreams of a crooked smile pressed against his mouth and a confident grip firm around his cock. 

Mickey jolts awake in the morning with panting breaths and come on his sheets, Ian’s name caught in his throat. As his heartbeat settles to a more healthy rhythm, he becomes distinctly aware of how wrong he was. This isn’t nothing. It’s not even close to nothing.

Ian Gallagher is under his skin and there’s fuck all Mickey can do about it.

 

* * *

 

“Hey uh…” Ian says one night, his voice unusually quiet and measured. He’s picking at a loose thread on his jeans, fixed on it like it might weave itself back into the denim if he just focuses enough. “Are you gonna go to Yerkes?”

“To where?”

“Yerkes. Lip mentioned it last night. Remember?” There’s a note of expectancy in Ian’s voice. Mickey only blinks at him, completely lost. Ian’s face falls. “You get drunk before coming here? It was literally yesterday.”

Mickey huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Naw, I just don’t listen to shit your brother says.”

Ian scoffs and rolls his eyes, amused. “The club goes to the Yerkes Observatory in Wisconsin for a weekend trip every year. I haven’t been before, but Lip always says it’s fun.”

“Well, if  _Lip_ says.” The corner of Mickey’s mouth pulls up. He raises a brow at Ian and Ian shakes his head in return.

“This year’s trip is coming up in a few weeks. I’m kinda excited to finally see it.” He’s looking at the night again, always watching those faraway worlds only he can see. Mickey looks up with him, feeling like maybe if he stares hard enough he’ll catch a glimpse of them as well. It seems stupid, but… he wants to see, wants Ian to show him, to share this with him like some secret only the two of them would know about.

Fuck, maybe he really is out of it tonight.

Ian gets up from his spot on the ground and shakes the dirt off his jeans. When he turns to Mickey, it’s with that same expression he seems to reserve for the sky. “You should come with us.”

“I'll think about it.”

 

* * *

 

Lip, the genius that he is, somehow manages to get the old kooks running the astronomy department to throw some extra cash at the club mid-semester. Extra cash means new gear and new gear means that Mickey and Ian had spent the better part of a week playing debate team against Lip, trying to get him to buy some actual telescopes from this century instead of just upgrading all the binoculars. Mickey’s pretty sure the telescopes won out in the end only thanks to Ian’s goddamn Bambi eyes. Fucking impossible to say no to.

“This is amazing, Mick. Don’t think I’ve ever used one like this.” Ian’s eyes grow the size of plates as they watch Lip and some rando Mickey can’t be fucked to remember if he’s seen among the club crowd before set up the first of three brand spankin’ new telescopes for the observatory. The rando peers over his shoulder at Ian’s words, does this little up-and-down glance at him and smirks in a way that makes Mickey’s skin prickle. He ignores it and rolls his shoulders out to try and shrug away the feeling.

“Don’t get too excited yet. Still plenty of time for Lip to break the thing,” Mickey says without too much bite and Lip smirks and flips him off without taking his eyes off the tripod legs he’s screwing in place.

“I’ll make sure it’s in perfect working condition for you,” the rando says. He’s got this high, nasally as all hell voice that has the hair on Mickey’s neck standing up like it did when he was younger and Mandy would purposely scrape a knife against her plate just to piss him off.

Thankfully, they make quick work of piecing together the telescope and Mickey fights back a grin when Lip points out to the guy that he put two parts together backwards. The moment the telescope is all set up, as he promised he would the day they were ordered (again probably thanks to those damn Bambi eyes), Lip hands the thing off to Ian and Mickey first before moving on to set up the other two.

It’s bigger than Mickey imagined it’d be when they were picking from their list of budget-friendly models and he feels like he’s ten again, itching to look through it, to poke around and twist the dials, turn the knobs, fiddle with anything and everything on it he can reach. And if that’s what  _he’s_ feeling, Ian must be nearing implosion from excitement next to him. So Mickey reigns in his own eagerness and trades it in in favour of watching Ian and the delighted expression on his face.

“The hell are you waiting for, starman? Have at it.”

And just like that, Ian’s hands are on the telescope, adjusting the angle and fine tuning the focus dial with an easy precision that comes naturally to him. He may have never used one like this before, but Ian probably knows his way around a telescope better than a mechanic knows the pistons and valves of an engine. Every move he makes has certainty and purpose to it, and Mickey would be lying if he didn’t admit it was kinda hot.

He has no idea how long he stands there, gaping at Ian like some twelve-year-old girl as he works with the telescope. When it finally dawns on him that he’s been staring this whole damn time, Mickey huffs an angry breath, irritated with himself, and immediately throws his attention at anything other than Ian. His eyes land on that guy who was helping Lip with the telescopes, the disgusting smirk from before back on the asshole’s face. He’s absolutely fucking gawking at Ian from across the observatory like he wants to devour him and Mickey’s stomach twists with a strange discomfort. His legs itch to march on over there and give him a good kick in the balls.

Mickey turns away, digging his teeth into the corner of his lip. What fucking ever. He’s not Ian’s keeper. Hell, he’s not Ian’s  _anything_ , so he’s got zero reason getting worked up over some depraved freak ogling him like a piece of meat for the taking.

“Ah! There.” Ian’s voice snaps Mickey’s attention back to him and the wound up feeling in his limbs gives a little. Still looking through the telescope, Ian’s smiling like he always does, large and bright and easy, and it calms the churning in Mickey’s gut. He can’t help it as he mirrors with a smile of his own.

“Mick, come look.” Ian paws his hand through the air until he gets a grip on Mickey’s wrist and yanks him over.

“Ey, fuck off,” Mickey grouses. He twists out of the hold and a warm tingle runs along the skin where Ian’s fingers had been. It’s… kinda nice, actually, Mickey thinks and then gives his head a little shake before that thought has a chance to turn into some even more ridiculous notion, like if that’s what holding hands with Ian would feel like.

Christ man, get it together. Milkoviches don’t hold hands. (Then again, Milkoviches aren’t queers and yet here he is, absolutely dumb with infatuation for this guy.)

The second he looks through the telescope, Mickey feels that childhood excitement rising again.

“That’s fucking Jupiter.”

“It’s fucking Jupiter.”

“And the red spot. You can see the red spot.”

“You can see so much with these telescopes, they’re fucking amazing.”

“Glad you like them.” 

Mickey shoots up at the sound of the nasally voice behind him that definitely does not belong to Ian. Of fucking course. Smirking creeper guy. Up close like this, Mickey thinks his face looks like someone put a steaming pile of shit right under his nose.   

“You boys need help with anything?” the guy says. He barely spares a glance at Mickey, which is all well and fine because Mickey thinks he’d rather put on a dress and prance around the observatory than talk to this prick. The guy’s instead got his smarmy leer going full force at Ian and Mickey’s about two seconds away from telling him to go fishing for chumps elsewhere. 

“Naw, these telescopes are pretty easy to figure out,” Ian says. It’s got far less bite than Mickey would’ve used though it’s still plenty of cue for Shitface to move right the fuck along, if he’d take the hint and get lost instead of standing there like an idiot. 

“I’m Roger. Roger Spikey,” the guy says and Mickey brings a knuckle to his lips to stop a smirk from spreading across his face. The fuck kinda last name is Spikey. “Lip asked me to come help out with the telescopes tonight since I’m interning at the company they’re manufactured in.” 

“Oh yeah? You know a lot about making small things look bigger?” 

Spikey balks at that. His face turns into a hilarious mix of confusion and scandal and Mickey feels a swell of accomplishment bubble up in his chest. Ian snorts and from the corner of his eye Mickey sees him turning a half-step away and shaking his head before coming back. 

“I’m Ian, Lip’s brother,” he says, probably trying to save face because he can’t help being nice sometimes, even to fucking creeps who wanna take advantage of him. Mickey doesn’t get it. “And this is Mickey.”

“Ian? So you’re the one who nagged Lip into getting these. You have great taste.” Spikey seems to have regained some of his composure. Mickey does a bad job of hiding a laugh under his breath, though he’s not really trying very hard. When Spikey glances over at him, Mickey just raises his eyebrows and glares right the fuck back. He’s a little disappointed when that’s all it takes for that bit of composure Spikey's gathered to quickly wilt away.

Spikey turns his repulsive animal-on-the-hunt stare at Ian once more and says, “Well, you certainly seem to know your way around a telescope, but if you need a uhh… a hand with anything, you can just come find me.”

“You know that telescopes don’t make small things look bigger. They make far things look closer.” Ian cocks an amused brow at Mickey when Spikey’s finally gone.

“Same fuckin’ difference.” Mickey waves an aggressive hand through the air and Ian just bumps their shoulders together and does that dumb lopsided smiling thing. Mickey exhales roughly and ignores the heat spreading across his cheeks. Stupid fuckin’ Spaceboy.

“Come on, maybe he wanted to see Uranus with us,” Ian says, putting the emphasis on the middle syllable of Uranus.

“That was fucking horrible, y’know that?” 

They spend the rest of the night searching out the planets with the telescope. Spikey doesn’t come back and Ian doesn’t seem to notice or mind, not that Mickey keeping tabs.

When the rest of the club leaves and it’s only the two of them on the roof again, Mickey feels something solidify in his chest.

“Ey. I’ll uhh…” He looks off to the side, rubs a thumb across his bottom lip. “I’ll go on your stupid fucking field trip, alright.”

Ian stares blankly at him for a second until the realization hits him and this dopey, happy expression settles on his face, dimpling his cheeks and making his eyes shine with something like fondness. Like most things Ian does these days, the sight makes Mickey’s chest thump funny. It’s fucking delightful. He never wants to look away.

 

* * *

 

Ian texts Mickey all the details of the Yerkes trip the next day and the first thing Mickey does is check a page of www.space.com he’s got bookmarked.

The days aren’t a perfect match, but with a little luck they might be just close enough.

 

* * *

 

It’s a bit past three in the morning and Mickey’s nudging at Ian’s shin with his foot for the fifth fucking time. Asshole’s a heavier sleeper than Mickey’s old man, and Terry’s been known to snore right through it when Mickey’s brothers get it in their heads that shooting blanks in the backyard is a good idea.

“Ey, Star Lord. Get up,” he whispers as loud as he dares, careful not to wake up the rest of the astronomy club sleeping on two neat lines of cots set up in a rotunda of the observatory.

They arrived sometime in the early evening, the Yerkes domes poking out from a line of trees ahead of them and the setting sun making Ian’s hair glow an even brighter red. Mickey’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever been out of state for reasons above the law and he was honestly on the verge of questioning his choices to come along when some Jiminy Cricket tour guide began yapping about the filigree carvings on the observatory entrance with more gusto than the Energizer bunny. Fuck’s sake, who gets  _that_ enthusiastic about some swirls on a wall? But then Ian had yanked him by the sleeve, pulling this way and that and pointing out everything from century-old astronomy equipment which could easily pass for torture devices to the ridiculous blow-up Spider-Man hanging on the ceiling of one of the domes, curiosity and awe pulling at the corners of his lips and crinkling his eyes with joy. And shit, the way his face had lit up when the guide let them use the refractor telescope - that alone was worth twenty years of history lessons and stupid door carving shenanigans.

Though all that aside, Mickey came here with a goddamn plan and it would be great if Ian could get his ass out of bed so they can get this show on the road. He has no idea how much time they’ve got and, as much as Ian makes these cots seem comfortable to sleep on with how dead to the world he is, Mickey’s patience is running real fucking thin.

“Come on man, rise and fuckin’ shine.” He gives him another good jab with his toe and this time Ian squirms his leg away.

“Mickey? Time’s it?” His voice is rough with sleep and comes out muffled as he tries to burrito himself even further into the covers. All long limbs and lanky body that he is, he somehow manages to fit on the cot with plenty of space left like it’s a goddamn king size.

“Minor details,” Mickey hisses. “Hurry up, man, we gotta roll.”

Ian pokes his head out at that, like some giant ginger turtle peering out of its shell. His hair is sticking up on one side, flattened on the other and he’s glaring at Mickey through half-lidded eyes, sleepy confusion seeping into the furrow of his brows. “Roll where?”

“Just move your ass, Cinderella,” Mickey says as Ian rubs at his eyes. Ian kicks the sheets away and fuck it, Mickey lets himself take in the lines of his body usually hidden away by layers of hoodies and jackets. Strong arms, lean legs and a happy trail that becomes visible as Ian stretches his arms up, he looks good like this. Real good. Mickey tongues at the corner of his lip, allows himself one more second to look before the turns towards the door of the room.

He gets about halfway down the hall when he hears the soft patter of Ian’s footsteps behind him, slowly getting louder and louder until Ian’s walking in line with Mickey, hair still sticking up and his clothes kinda rumpled, with a drowsy slouch to his back.

Ian coughs the sleep out of his throat. “Where the hell are we going?” 

“Just stay quiet and follow me.” Left at the bust of the guy with the crooked nose and giant mustache, then up the stairs at the end of the hall, Mickey leads them along the route he’d mapped out in his head while Jiminy Cricket was showing them around and getting hard over some architectural masterpiece or whatever the fuck. He takes them to the top floor, past a heavy set of doors and on to the gravelly Yerkes rooftop where the cool night air actually smells fresh and clean and nothing at all like the city stench of Canaryville he’s so used to. It ain’t half bad, though there’s some sort of irony in that Mickey’s first instinct is to reach into his pocket and fish out his Marlboros.

Ian is fully awake now, standing in front of him with lips pursed in a tight smile and brows hiked up his forehead. To his credit, he hasn’t said a word yet and he waits until Mickey gets a nice deep drag of his cigarette into his lungs before he speaks. “Now will you tell me why we’re here?”

“Wanted to have a smoke.”

“You woke me up in the middle of the night to sneak out for a smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“On the roof?”

“Didn’t wanna go past security at the front desk.”

“And you needed me to come along because…?”

“Thought you'd enjoy the scenery.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Why, you gonna turn into a pumpkin if you don’t get your eight hours beauty rest? Cuz I hate to break it to you, firecrotch, but I think your hair’s already turning.”

“Ginger jokes? Really?”

“Ehh, I go where the opportunity takes me.” Mickey hides a smirk behind another drag off his cigarette.

“And what opportunity took you out here, exactly?” Ian reaches forward and tries to pluck the cigarette from where it’s sitting on the corner of Mickey’s bottom lip. Mickey swats him away and makes a show of taking another drawn out inhale from it, the end burning up bright and hot between them. It leaves a trail of orange light through the air as he passes it to Ian when his lungs are good and full of smoke.

“Christ, Gallagher, you got zero patience you know that?”

Ian scoffs around the cigarette, tilts his head to look up at Mickey from under raised brows. Bambi eyes are one thing, but Ian’s got an arsenal of looks bigger than Iggy’s gun stash to his disposal and right now he’s firing off a full blast of  _are you fucking kidding me._

Mickey sighs.

“Just... give it a second, alright,” he says and glances up, indicating to the sky with his eyebrows. Universe better not screw him over now.

Ian finishes off the cigarette, flicking the butt away, and looks up too. His voice is soft and Mickey can practically hear him smiling when he whispers, “Fuck. You can see so many stars here.”

 _Kinda hoping to see some more soon_ , Mickey’s about to say but holds it in, doesn’t wanna give too much away yet. Ian’s right, though - even the view from the top of the Ryerson Hall observatory doesn’t come close to this. Hundreds of stars speckle the night sky, some that Mickey’s looked at every single Wednesday for the past few months, some he’d never seen before. He glances over at Alpha Centauri, eyes trained to go there first since the day Ian brought his pocket telescope, and he tries not to think too much about how all the stars look like freckles on the night.  

And then it happens.

A crackling arc of light streaks across the sky, vanishing before Mickey fully registers what he’s just seen. He and Ian both stand frozen, perfectly still as if any sudden movement will scatter the rest of the stars above them away. Mickey counts his breaths, one, two, three, all the way to twelve before it happens again. This time, he definitely sees it - another line of light that cuts across the constellations. A meteoroid.

“Mick,” Ian says, so softly Mickey almost misses it. He’s looking up, that far-off-worlds spark in his eyes and his lips parted in wonder. Then one corner of his mouth quirks up and he laughs. “This was why, wasn’t it? This was why you brought me here.” 

Mickey’s heart does this stupid stop-stutter thing when Ian turns to him. His brain craps out, caught somewhere between  _deflectdeflectdeflect_ and the take no prisoners Milkovich instinct screaming at Mickey to fucking go for it and kiss him already. His tongue darts out along his lip and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Ian’s eyes drop down to the movement and he mirrors it.

And that settles things. His last name ain’t fucking Milkovich for nothing.

Mickey surges up and presses his lips to Ian’s in something that’s more collision than kiss. It’s quick and kinda clumsy and if he thought his heart was going to malfunction before, it’s nothing compared to the drumline beat it’s firing off when he pulls back. He swipes at his nose and looks around at everything other than Ian, trying to keep it together like this is perfectly normal and there isn’t a ridiculous amount of adrenaline flooding his system, making his whole body shake with the urge to get the hell out of there.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees Ian’s shell shocked expression melt into that dopey, moony smile of his. Mickey chances a glance at him in time to catch Ian’s hands come up to cup his jaw. Ian leans in close, so close, he’s so  _fucking_ close Mickey can’t breathe, can’t do much of fuck all except kiss back when he closes the space between them. Ian’s kiss is a little messy, greedy, kinda dirty. Fucking perfect. Hands in Mickey’s hair, down his back, chest to chest, he’s everywhere and Mickey fucking loves it, can’t believe it. He smiles into it as he runs his fingers through the short hair on the back of Ian’s neck and licks into his mouth.

Who the fuck knows how long they stay like that until Ian pulls away, rests his forehead against Mickey’s. He pecks him again and mumbles against his lips, “Been wanting to do that for ages.”

Mickey’s brain is currently trying to process or reboot or whatever the fuck, so all he can really manage to respond with is a dumb, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I can be patient. Sometimes.” Ian’s voice is breathy and it’s really not helping Mickey with the whole coming back to his senses thing.

Then his brain finally catches up and something clicks. He leans back to look at Ian, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. “Wait, you’re telling me we coulda been doing this sooner?”

Ian has the gall to chuckle at that. “Coulda. Not that I’m complaining. Meteor shower was a nice touch.”

“Ey, this,” Mickey indicates between them with his hand, “wasn’t exactly part of the plan.” 

“Oh, so you didn’t want it to happen?” Ian challenges, with this playful, cocky fucking smirk tugging at his lips.

“Didn’t say that.” Mickey matches it with his own grin. Then, feeling kinda sheepish and looking up at the stars mostly to avoid looking at Ian right now, he adds, “Did say you’d enjoy the scenery though.”

“You did. I did,” Ian says and peers up too, just in time to catch another meteoroid shoot across the sky overhead. It passes right by Alpha Centauri and Mickey remembers something Mandy told him ages ago.

“Aren’t you supposed to make a fucking wish when you see a shooting star or something?”

“Don’t wanna make a wish,” Ian’s eyes flick back down to Mickey. “Wanna kiss you again.”

“Then shut up and do it.”

“Who’s impatient now?”

“Fuck you is what I am.” Mickey brings a hand up to the back of Ian’s head, threading through his hair.  “C’mere.”

Above them, another meteoroid flies through the sky.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, there really is a Spider-Man hanging on the ceiling of one of the Yerkes domes.
> 
> Come scream at me about these dumb boys: [tumblr](http://heymikhailo.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/SpaceRat313)


End file.
